Runner up story The Flying Pig

The President of Ireland happens upon the Pig of Lough Muckno By Elizabeth Mc Phillips

As the Presidential automobile swept down the N2, rolling through Monaghan’s drumlin landscape, the driver was startled by a sudden exclamation from the back seat.  

“What monstrosity is that?” demanded the President, who had been enjoying the solitude of his chauffeured journey home to Aras an Uachtarain. He did not appreciate any disturbances to his reverie – even of the Road Art variety.      

“Oh that’s St. Maeldoid’s Pig, also known as the Lough Muckno Pig” said the driver. “The locals call it the Flying Pig – and all manner of other derogatory things. I believe it’s a rather controversial and contentious pig …”

But the President was no longer listening. He was busy thumbing through his mental thesaurus for the wordiest word he could find to express his astonishment about the pig.

“Abhorrent … abominable … appalling … atrocious … dire … egregious … yes! Egregious! That’s what it is. Egregious . . . outstandingly shocking.”

The President relaxed back into his leather seat and became pensive again. 

“Whose bright idea was it to instal a flying pig sculpture at the side of a road in rural north Monaghan?” mused the President.

“Although I must declare it is a very-well sculpted sculpture. Very solid-looking. And shiny. Solid and shiny . . . but still egregious.”

“Well Mr. President, I believe the idea originated with yourself,” responded the driver, an ex-Garda who always managed to sound authoritative.  

The President was apoplectic with indignation.  

“It was NOT my idea – most certainly not!” said the President.

“I simply approved the funding for the Per Cent for Art Scheme when I served as most eminent and esteemed Minister for Arts, Culture and the Gaeltacht. As I have enunciated on many an occasion, I am a passionate defender of the arts and culture and all things refined. But a pig? That is not what I would envisage as the epitome of culture.”

You could tell President Higgins was a poet by his penchant for alliteration at every opportunity.

“And what is more,” continued the President, “I am going to find out whose idea this was. I do not want my cultured name ever to be associated with this porcine piece. To think that, after all my melodious poetry and my erudite speeches, that anyone would associate my name with a pig.”

When the President returned home, he enlisted the equally erudite and sophisticated Sabina to help him with a few phone calls. Sabina had worked for a stint in the Land Commission when she was just 18 years of age.  She would know about these things.

“Did you know that I studied the Stanislavsky method in acting when I was Sabina Coyne?” Sabina was fond of telling anyone who might be tempted to view her as merely a Presidential partner.   

“I have also worked in theatre and community arts for 30 years. Therefore, by logical deduction, I would know a lot about . . . what did they say the pig was? Oh yes, Road Art!”

And so Michael and Sabina made a sturdy pot of Irish Breakfast Tea and began their research, with Brod and Misneach at their feet, and Sioda ever-watchful in a photo frame. They put the phone on speaker so they could share the anticipated revelations about the inspiration for the sculpture.

“The pig was definitely not our idea!” said the Department of the Environment. “Don’t blame us!” they cried.  

“We merely agreed that one percent of the cost of every new road built in Ireland would be put towards the funding of public artworks. But no-one mentioned a pig! A pig? Why would anyone suggest a pig? That is not quite what we had in mind as the type of public artwork to grace our impressive new carriageways!”

“It wasn’t us!” said Monaghan County Council, who were well-accustomed to getting blamed for everything, even when it wasn’t their fault.

“We were invited to submit ideas for a work of road art, and we were told we could choose the theme ourselves. We were given €170,000 to spend on artwork when building the two new bypasses on the N2. If the money wasn’t spent on the artwork, it would ‘revert to the central exchequer’.

The Council became even more animated: “We weren’t going to send the money back! Send money back to the government? Why ever would we do that?”

“Yes, we’re going to keep the money they gave us,” said the councillors in unison. Remarkably, the bipartisan councillors did not bicker on this issue. When it came to free money, the councillors were unanimously united.  

“The take-it-or-leave-it attitude of the National Roads Authority in relation to the money is very disappointing in the present climate, but rather than lose the money, we may as well use it,” said one canny Fianna Fail councillor.

But when did the pig enter the discussion?

“Well, maybe the pig did possibly get . . . discussed perhaps . . . at a meeting possibly,” the county councillors equivocated and prevaricated. The councillors were not very experienced at equivocating and prevaricating, and so the words did not come easily.

“There is, in fact, a legend about a black pig which apparently lived in the waters of Lough Muckno, near Castleblayney. We’ll tell you the story later. Maybe some councillor did half-suggest that it would be a good idea to commemorate the swimming pig with a statue.”

Tell us the story about the black pig now, the councillors were asked.  

“Well, there’s a local legend that tells how St. Maeldóid tried to build a monastery at Concra, on one side of Lough Muckno. Every morning, however, he would find the stones knocked down by a mysterious force. Lying in wait one night, he discovered it was a black pig, diligently destroying the construction and returning the stones across the lake. The stones were carried to Churchill on the lake's east side. The monastery was eventually built in Churchill and stands in ruins today.”

So the original pig was a swimming pig? But the statue is a flying pig! How did that happen?

“Well I just followed the design brief,” said the sculptor, David Annand.

“If some-one’s offering me €90,000, I don’t ask any questions. I’ll make anything they want. I always do a good job of course. And I am in fact a properly qualified sculptor. But I do believe the pig sculpture idea was the result of a public competition held by Monaghan County Council.”

“I believe public art is a wonderful idea,” said the Arts Officer for Monaghan County Council.

“And no, I am not at all concerned that people might attempt to climb on to the sculpture. I know Monaghan people will do some crazy things alright. But if anyone tried to climb up on that pig, I don’t think it would end well, unless they were particularly agile and athletic of frame. I mean, the N2 is right underneath.”

The Arts Officer for Monaghan County Council reiterated that the sculpture was perfectly safe from adventurous creatures of the Farney species.     

“To my knowledge, no-one has ever tried to climb up on any of the statues in Monaghan,” he said. “Well, not the tall statues anyway. In my arty opinion, this one would be particularly difficult to reach – so fair play to them if they managed to get up on that!”

Some people did not believe the sculpture being inaccessible was a good thing at all.  

“We would assert unequivocally that public art should not be hidden away,” said everyone in the arts community in Ireland. 

“Public artwork is intended to express local culture and promote community identity and articulate a deep sense of place. Public artwork carries great significance for the cultural heritage of Ireland and is a truly wonderful resource that can be enjoyed by all.”

“What a lot of rot!” said the Irish Farmers’ Association.

“This is a disgraceful waste of public money. Some farmers have not even been paid yet for the land they gave up for road schemes! Absolutely disgraceful.”

“Yes, that is the word – disgraceful,” echoed the national chairman of the Local Authority Members Association.

“Such a waste of money – at a time when the council hasn’t sufficient money to undertake all the road improvements that are necessary in the area,” said the chairman, who was also a Fine Gael local councillor.

“St. Maeldoid’s Pig??? More like the ‘Sow on the Brow’, if you ask me!” spluttered the Fine Gael councillor, who was really on a roll, as he liked to court controversy by saying colourful things.

“I’m after coming that way on my way to this council Budget Meeting, and I’m after seeing it up high on the hill. Surely the money could have been better spent on more important measures, such as improving the exits to the bypass?”

If Michael D. Higgins had witnessed the good councillor’s ‘Sow on the Brow’ perfect rhyme, he would have seen that Monaghan had a proud literary tradition that transcended pigs.

Meanwhile, in Castleblayney, where the pig legend first began, the citizens were incensed and embarrassed by the whole incident.

“The structure is a terrible idea,” said the deputy mayor of the town, a sensible, straight-talking man.   

"This depiction of a pig at the exit to Castleblayney – a town that's renowned for its musical people – I would refer to it as a monstrosity," he said.

“It should be a Swimming Pig – not a Flying Pig!” wailed the local townspeople.

“If the pig is indeed based on the Muckno Pig, the legend of Lough Muckno tells of a black pig swimming in the lake. Could they not at least get that much right?”

By now, the council was acutely aware that not everyone was a fan of the polished steel pig and its rather public location.  

“In fairness to the council’s engineering staff, the pig is half-hid,” said the ever-colourful Fine Gael councillor. This councillor could always be relied on to speak his mind. To the councillor, the pig being ‘half-hid’ was the best solution in the awful circumstances.

But the question of whether the engineering staff had been officially advised to locate the pig partly out of sight was never addressed – at least not in public. Presumably nobody wanted anybody to lose their job over the partial concealment of the expensive sculpture.

And as for the President … he never did find anyone to take the blame – or even the credit – for the Flying/Swimming Pig.

But being a poet, the President decided the best way to preserve his cultured reputation –

and distance himself from the pig sculpture – was to write another poem. And so he wrote:

To the Black Pig

By night you swam Lough Muckno

And hence you found your fame

We know you moved those stones

For you it was maybe just a game

You outsmarted that poor saint   

You left him in the lurch

You moved his stones by night

All he wanted was a church

The church is now in ruins

But we remember St. Maeldoid

Although his holy vision

You so wantonly destroyed

The most ironic thing of all

Is that his name is kept alive

By your controversial sculpture

On the Monaghan-Dublin drive